


Ghost Notes

by Leela



Series: Music Under the Skin [2]
Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), Glam Rock RPF, Tommy Ratliff (Musician)
Genre: BDSM, Frottage, Kink Negotiation, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-07
Updated: 2012-06-07
Packaged: 2017-11-07 05:34:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/427445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leela/pseuds/Leela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tommy's showing Isaac a great deal of gentleness and caring, but Isaac needs someone who can take him down into sub-space.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghost Notes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vlredreign](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vlredreign/gifts).



> **Betas** : batdina, Minxie
> 
>  **Disclaimer** : This story is a complete AU. These are not the actual people, nor does this 'verse bear much resemblance to their actual lives.
> 
>  **A/N** : This is a sequel to Broken String ([AO3](http://archiveofourown.org/works/303259) / [DW](http://leela-cat.dreamwidth.org/173467.html)); you should probably read that story before this one. 
> 
> This was written as a birthday gift for vlredreign. Hope this year brings her all the joy (plus some gorgeous porn). ♥

The show is over. Isaac can still feel the vibrations from the drums running through his veins, along his nerves. It's the closest to true sub-space that he's managed in a couple of months, and it's only making him want so much more. He plays a soft roll on his Pang. He's so close to the edge that the dark vibrations shiver through him and he has to grasp the edge to quiet it. 

He has needs, damn it, and he's tired of waiting for Tommy to stop being careful. At this point, even Ravi is starting to look good, and Isaac has no illusions about how bad Ravi was for him. 

Against his will, Isaac's eyes are drawn over to the side of the rehearsal space, where Tommy and Ravi are talking. He can't quite hear what they're saying. Just the occasional word, too few to combine into even a single sentence, but watching them is enough for him to know that they're arguing... again.

The urge to walk over there and go to his knees in front of them, to beg Tommy — fuck it, even Ravi — to do something to ease the buzzing that's sliding along his nerves, it's almost overwhelming. Isaac's on his feet, moving around his kit before the idea completely forms in his mind. 

Isaac is only a few feet away when Tommy shifts so that he's standing between Isaac and Ravi. He does it without looking up or giving any indication that he's noticed Isaac coming towards them. 

"I'm not wrong." Ravi flings a hand towards Isaac, almost hitting Tommy. Isaac flinches; Tommy just frowns at Ravi.

The tension rises between the two of them, and Isaac shoves his hands in his pockets and focuses on his breathing. His neck muscles are just starting to relax when Tommy runs a hand over his shoulders and leaves his arm slung across them. Protective, possessive, perfect — Isaac leans into him, into that reassurance.

"You're nowhere near an expert, dude," Tommy says. "And I don't think you want to have _that_ conversation again."

For a few seconds Isaac thinks Ravi's going to say something, but all he ends up doing is blowing air out of his mouth noisily.

"That's what I thought." Rubbing his palm over the curve of Isaac's shoulder, Tommy adds, "And, like, if that's all you've got, we're gonna pack up our shit and head out." 

Narrowing his eyes at Tommy, Ravi nods. "Later."

There's a hesitation, then Tommy's hand slides up to the back of Isaac's neck and he massages gently before holding it in a loose grip. His touch heightens the buzz running along Isaac's nerves, and he sags into Tommy. 

"Not here," Tommy whispers into Isaac's ear, his breath raising goosebumps as it tickles over the cartilage.

 _Where_? Isaac thinks. _When_? But he doesn't say that out loud. He just follows Tommy back over to their instruments and begins disassembling his kit.

~*~

For once, Isaac doesn't take the time to unpack his drum bags and reassemble his kit. Instead he stacks the padded bags in the room where they usually practice and then wanders over to his cajón. Squatting down over it, he runs his fingers across the head and tries to think. But he's so close to the edge that his brain skitters from idea to idea, from image to image, moving as quickly as the sounds he draws from the cajón.

He slows his hands down, beat by beat, until he's left with one thought: _It's time_. And, on that, he rises and moves to the door. He cannot, will not, wait any longer. 

As expected, Tommy is in the living room. His guitar cases are leaning against the wall near the door, his amp in front of them. Tommy himself is stretched out on the couch. The usual tray of food and drinks sits on the coffee table within easy reach.

Isaac hesitates in the doorway before deciding to follow his own instincts and not sit on the floor at Tommy's feet as usual. He shifts, scuffs his bare feet on the floor, and makes enough noise to draw Tommy's attention. Then, moving deliberately, slowly, he walks to the opposite side of the coffee table from Tommy, sinks to his knees, bows his head, and laces his hands behind his neck.

In his peripheral vision, Isaac can see Tommy sit up and turn so that his feet are on the ground and he's facing Isaac. He can feel the weight of Tommy's gaze, feel it sweep over him, and he holds his breath, fights the urge to look up, to make sure that he's not displeasing Tommy. He needs to know what kind of Dom Tommy will be. All the gentleness and caring that Tommy has shown so far has its place, but Isaac needs someone who can take him down into sub-space, keep him there, and then bring him back out again. 

Isaac's heart thuds in his chest, a crescendo of ghost notes, felt not heard, as Tommy gets to his feet, walks around the table, and crouches behind him. 

"Tell me," Tommy says, his hand gentle on Isaac's head. 

"I need—" Choking on the words massing in his throat, Isaac pauses. 

Then he inhales sharply as Tommy's hand tightens on his hair and he uses it to tug Isaac's head back, giving Isaac no choice but to look at him. 

"Hey." Tommy pulls his bottom lip into his mouth and bites on it for a moment before continuing. "I need your words. Do you have them yet?"

"Oh." As Isaac breathes out the syllable, everything shifts inside him and he understands. Tommy wasn't just being too gentle; he was waiting. Isaac licks his lips. "Yes."

"Awesome." Tommy's grin is silly, familiar. He releases Isaac's hair, ruffles it up, then goes back to sit on the couch with his legs crossed. He pats the cushion next to him. "Come on over here. Might as well be comfy for this."

When Isaac sits down, Tommy hands him a glass of water. 

"My safe word's Moeller," Isaac says, and takes a sip of water to give himself a moment to think. "If I'm gagged, I want my cactus rainstick. A slow twirl or shake will be my safeword."

"Cool," Tommy says. "I'm pretty easy going, you know, but I have limits. Not into anything that humiliates you or requires major cleanup afterwards. Like, you know, watersports and that kind of shit."

"Not a problem." Isaac shuddered. "Those are beyond my limits."

Snagging a bunch of grapes from the tray, Tommy feeds a few to Isaac before popping a couple in his own mouth. They're silent for a few seconds, and Isaac reaches out to place a hand on Tommy's leg. Tommy blinks at him and then covers Isaac's hand with his own. "Tell me what you like."

Isaac takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. Just thinking about what he wants, what he needs, drops him down just enough that sub-space feels within reach. He licks his lips and takes another sip of water. "Beats," he says. "Sticks, hands, floggers. Make me feel the rhythms in my body. Crescendo, decrescendo, patterns with eighth notes, accents, rests."

"Tie you up." Tommy's voice is a bit rougher than usual, and he squeezes Isaac's hand. "Put some heat behind the music. Draw staffs, bars, and notes in bruises and welts."

The picture goes directly to Isaac's dick, settles in his balls, leaves him hot and heavy with arousal. He hisses, "Yes."

Then Tommy raises his free hand to Isaac's face, traces the skin around Isaac's eyes, the cartilage of Isaac's ears with his fingertips. Tommy's touch is light, barely felt, and it raises goosebumps on Isaac's skin. "I like sensory deprivation," he says. "A blindfold for your eyes, plugs for your ears. Like, maybe a pair of monitors feeding you nothing but white noise."

It's nothing Isaac has ever experienced before, nothing he's even thought about, but he's shuddering with want as he leans in toward Tommy, nuzzles the hand that's still touching his face. 

"Gonna turn the beats into ghost notes on your skin," Tommy says, and his fingers tap a quick, soft pattern on Isaac's lips. "Until you're doing nothing but feeling."

"Need." The word bursts out of Isaac. "Please." His breathing is short and sharp. His dick is hard, just thinking about what Tommy will do to him, the music he'll create with Isaac as his instrument. 

Tommy leans back, draws Isaac on top of him. His hands slide down to cup Isaac's ass, and he encourages Isaac to rub against him. The cotton of Isaac's loose pants is slightly coarse. And when Tommy presses down, Isaac clutches at him, and begins to beg. Tommy squeezes, hard and fast, soft and slow. His fingers drum against Isaac's ass and upper thighs. 

Isaac's undulating, holding on to Tommy's shoulders, arching up into his hands and down against his body. And when Isaac's body is singing, when his balls are drawing up and his dick is fuller and harder, Tommy rolls his hips in counterpoint to the rhythm, and Isaac is lost, crying out, notes blending into each other, as he comes. 

When Isaac opens his eyes, Tommy is smiling at him and stroking his hair. "You'll do just fine," Tommy says.

Not trusting his voice, Isaac smiles back. He curls into Tommy and trusts Tommy to take care of him.


End file.
